


First Taste

by melanie1982



Category: Claudia the Vampire, Estella of Great Expectations
Genre: AU, Other, Silly, Vampires, apologiestoAnneRice, apologiestoDickens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:50:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6241894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanie1982/pseuds/melanie1982
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claudia recalls Estella's first kill.</p><p>This story is fiction. I don't own these characters, and I make no money from this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Taste

I now knew her darkest secret, and the lesser ones as well. I knew of Estella's envy of her maid, Agnes; she envied the woman for being plain, poor, free from the constraints of society life, of propriety and pomp. Agnes was a child of the earth, satisfying her carnal appetites with no fear of losing face or fortune. A greedy girl, she was well-fed, and taking her life would feed Estella in more ways than one.

It wasn't just about envy, of course. Agnes would notice the change in her mistress, and might even link it to my visit. That simply wouldn't do. She was our only witness, the only link between Estella and her old life, which meant that she had to be destroyed.

I knew she would scream, would probably beg for her life; I also knew that people in large cities didn't often go looking for the source of screams in the night, unless the screams mentioned "FIRE!" Rape and murder were acceptable, so long as everyone's property was secure. 

Agnes came into the room, finding both of us perfectly composed and sitting beside one another like old friends.

"You rang, madam?"

Her coarse speech jarred my nerves; the British accents run the gamut from refined to rough, and Agnes' was of the latter end.

"Yes, Agnes. Bring us some refreshments. Tea, and whatever is ready in the kitchen."

Agnes was wary, but obeyed. I was impressed with Estella so far, and curious to see how she would conduct herself. 

When the maid returned with the tray, Estella stopped her with a word. "Here. Not there, Agnes. Over here."

I could hear the maid's gears turning; the walk over to us was the longest walk of her life, as well as the last.

How would Estella contrive an excuse to touch her maid? I pursed my lips, waiting. 

"Agnes, do I smell my perfume?"

It was true, the room did smell faintly of roses, though the source could've been almost anything in that space.

"Madam?"

"My perfume. Have you been wearing it?"

It was an absolute bluff on Estella's part, but the effect on Agnes was immediate. "I, well, I may have spilled a bit, madam, when I was tidying your boudoir.."

My God, the way she pronounced 'boudoir!' So crass; so utterly wrong!

Estella watched the maid set down the tray, then snatched her wrist with a movement too swift for mortal eyes. "I smell it on you, Agnes."

The poor girl was wretched now. How many times had she played in her lady's things, trying on the gloves, holding earrings up to her own ears in the mirror, dabbing on a bit of perfume for the boys down the lane?

"It spilled on your wrist?"

"I.. I.. well.."

Estella's eyes flashed danger. "Come here, Agnes."

"Madam?"

"Lean down. Present your neck."

Agnes had tears - tears! - as she complied.

Estella sniffed, and the scent of the blood far eclipsed any other: the perfume, the grime of her body, the stale smoke.. 

"Why, Agnes, I thought better of you. I'm afraid you can no longer be my maid."

"Oh, please, madam," she simpered, "you can't! I wouldn't survive out there, in the world! I can't go 'ome!"

She had dropped her 'h.' I wanted to kill her myself.

"Very well, Agnes. You shall stay here, always."

I heard the fangs emerge, the fleshly crush as they gripped the girl's neck, her hands clutching wildly at nothing, zinging through empty air. I wanted to feed, but this was Estella's kill, and she had managed it very well on instinct alone. The girl begged, wailed, uttered oaths and prayers, then whined, a long, slow, grating sound. 

"You must stop before the heart stops," I said, echoing my first lesson of long ago. I could hear that terrible rhythm, filling the room, the telltale heart of Poe's story, made real. 

Estella released her death grip, the body settling on the carpet. Not a drop spilt. 

"Impressive," I said, and meant it.

"Is she..?"

I waited a moment more, hearing nothing. "She is dead. You will adjust to not having a maid. The fewer interactions we have with mortals, the better."

"Where shall we go?"

I turned to her, standing and straightening my skirts. "Anywhere you like. You must gather whatever belongings you wish to keep or sell, and then the two of us shall make our way into the world. There is only one possession which you will truly need, and which must be brought along with you everywhere."

"What is that?"

"A coffin, Estella."


End file.
